False Endymion

O’er here divine skin, my hand doth rest, Patiently waiting for my lover’s quiet breath, And when I do hear that sweet, blessed tone, Love will resound and all truth be shown. Ne’er would I dare to soothe thine ears Or eyes with such angelic grace - To cover thee with golden lace, Or a gentle kiss on thy tender face. O! how I lay in shroud of such fear of my Pleasures falling to such a short ending. A cold blade pierces thine skin, to accompany my sigh, Last my death by my lover’s side - her heart now mending.

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